Barcelona: day diez

Finally met the guy with whom I share the flat. He was so impressed by the fact I was from Armenia because it is where he wanted to travel after reading the book by Katerina Poladjan "Hier sind Löwen". Apparently she was also born in Russia, later after moving to Germany she discovered that her last name was Armenian and she went to Armenia and wrote the book about it.

It felt like a slap in my face. This Katerina Poladjan, SHE SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME. IT'S ME WHO SHOULD HAVE WRITTEN THE BOOK. I'm trying to calm myself down by repeating the mantra that I still have lots of time to write a book. Many books. I'm taking my time. But the worst truth sounds like that: the quicker you start, the further you go. It's eating me really bad. I have no idea about writing consistent texts, novels, even fucking blogs. I never did it. I used to have a blog, but it's always been about expressing myself. I never really paid proper attention to how I write. Okay, may be only when I wrote essays. I was really good at writing essays, they always were very logically structured with all the necessary examples etc. But the essays is one thing and writing a book or even a novel is a very different story.

^{sometimes i look really ugly}

I should start with the idea. What do I want to share? What do I want others to know? What do I want to express? I always imagined myself writing the book about my life or just stories from my life and lives around me. But I don't think anyone ever wrote about being queer in an Armenian family. Realising that you are queer while your dad psychologically abuses the whole family and beats your mom. Realising that you are queer while your mom plans her escape from the country with her children. But it seems like way too much action. I need to focus on something or someone. I thought I could focus on my mom. She experienced so much shit in her life and stayed a kind good person as she's always been. This is something worth a book, isn't it?